


Building Bridges

by stardustandswimmingpools



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Coming Out, Fluff, Gen, Katherine-centric, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Relationship Advice, Trust, but really subtly, katherine the mother, last-name discovery, not a lot of tags on this one, race opening up to everyone's shock, surprisingly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 09:26:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12056049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardustandswimmingpools/pseuds/stardustandswimmingpools
Summary: Race isn't exactly looking for advice, but Katherine is more than happy to give some anyway.-Katherine Plumber Pulitzer, nineteen years old with nineteen "children".





	Building Bridges

**Author's Note:**

> _what do we want??_  
>  a fanfiction about katherine and her relationship with all of the newsies and how she acts like a mother to them!!!  
>  _when do we want it??_  
>  as soon as i can get my shit together!!! also right now!!!  
> so here it is. thanks to someone on tumblr for inadvertently giving me the idea for this. you're the bomb.  
> ill keep working on these one-shots. for now just enjoy this one thanks

When Race jokingly says that Katherine’s become their mother, Jack only pipes up to put in that he’s still the father and he absolutely does not want to marry Katherine, so if they can make that work, by all means, let her be the mother.

“Yeah, an’ Davey’s like the uncle,” Specs jeers, to whistles of agreement.

“Nah, he’s the papa’s ‘special friend’ he visits every weekend when he says he’s workin’,” Blink says with a wolfish grin. The whistling increases.

“That’s enough,” Davey says loudly, blushing crimson.

Katherine grins too, because she kind of does feel like a mother, in a weird way. Maybe it’s just the age difference. She’s nineteen, after all, and the majority of the newsies are sixteen or under. Jack is the oldest at seventeen, which is partially why he’s in charge. Davey’s in charge because he’s cleverer than Jack and older than the all of the other newsies. Katherine’s in charge because she knows how to command a room, and the newsies listen to her. Nineteen kids — one for each year.

She loves them.

* * *

 

Everyone has their sanctuary. Jack’s is the rooftop; Davey’s taken a liking to the theatre; Katherine favors the basement of her father’s office building because she likes to play with the printing press.

Race goes to the Brooklyn Bridge, apparently.

Katherine is a reporter, but she likes to fancy herself a detective of sorts: probably all reporters fancy themselves detectives. She sees the way Race sections himself off from the rest of the newsies tonight, when he usually would have been in the thick of the made-up board game they’re playing, complete with shouting and smacking. She watches him as he watches them, and no one but her notices when he inconspicuously gets up and slips out the door.

It’s very unlike Race not to announce where he’s going. He likes to make-believe that they all care so very much, even though Katherine privately knows that everyone always hears when Race says he’s leaving, because they’ve learned to mentally take attendance.

Katherine surreptitiously follows, but not before elbowing Davey, who’s sitting next to her, reading a book, and telling him to keep an eye on the boys.

Davey tilts his head. “Where’re you going?”

“Duty calls,” Katherine replies airily as she jumps down from the bunk bed, grasping her skirt so she doesn’t land on it. The newsies don’t even see her leave, although she does hear Elmer triumphantly yell, “Take _that_ , you punk-ass trash rat! I win!”

Katherine finds it hard to believe that Elmer would win anything without cheating, because she sees him slip aces into his waistband all the time, but it’s none of her business, even though everything is her business.

Race’s silhouette is trudging through the cobblestone roads when Katherine exits the lodging house, and she follows him carefully, well-practiced in keeping her heels from catching between the stones.

He walks, kicking rocks, for nearly twenty minutes, and Katherine persists, because as slow as his motions are, he seems to be going someplace. It’s really not her business, but she’s curious, and she’s a little worried.

Yeah, she’s grown to care for a twerp like Race. Anything’s possible, right?

At the Brooklyn Bridge, he stops and leans against one of the suspension cables, and it looks like he doesn’t plan on moving.

Katherine clears her throat to make herself known so he doesn’t leap off the bridge, and approaches. “Racetrack?”

Race whirls around, fists in front of his face, primed to fight. When he sees it’s Katherine, he drops his fists, but the guarded stance lingers. “Jesus, lady, don’t _do_ that. Did you follow me?”

“‘Lady’?” Katherine repeats with a raised eyebrow. “At least have the decency to use my name. I’ve got one, you know.”

Race glares. “You’s evadin’ my question.”

Katherine waves it off. “Why are you staring at Brooklyn like it’s a long-lost lover?” she asks instead, stepping closer to him and leaning against the cable next to him. Race folds his arms across his chest.

“Can’t tell you nothin’, lest you put me in the papes,” he says defiantly. “Don’t want my juicy secrets as the headline, y’know what I’m saying?”

Katherine scoffs. “Trust me, I doubt you have any secrets that could make it past the editorials.”

Race frowns, settling himself against the thick wire. “That’s — hey!”

With a chuckle, Katherine nudges Race. “Come on, tell me why brave, undefeated, reckless Racetrack is slipping away to hide on big bridges in the middle of the night. I won’t tell anyone. Reporter’s honor.” She draws an _x_ over her sternum as if binding herself to the agreement. Race looks askance at her.

After a moment of obvious deliberation, he takes a breath. “Swear you won’t tell? This stays between us, alright?”

“I gave you my word,” Katherine says. “When a reporter gives her word, she means it.”

This isn’t necessarily true, because most reporters lie, but Katherine wouldn’t dream of betraying her friends by spilling their secrets. And besides, once you gain Race’s trust, you’re in for life. She knows she’s about to become one in only a handful of people who know anything about Race short of his tendency towards gambling.

Race sighs. “You know Spot Conlon?”

“King of Brooklyn?” Katherine says, mildly surprised that Spot, of all people, is a focal point of this story. She only knows his name through Jack, and this only from mentioning it once or twice on a flyaway comment that no one would have noted but someone as keen on detail as Katherine. His name is filed away in her brain under _things I might one day need to know_ , but it’s pretty clear he’s about to move into a very different section soon.

“Yeah, the one and only,” Race says. Something in his voice sounds kind of tired, but not tired, exactly: more...Katherine racks her mental thesaurus until she lands on _longing._ She furrows her brow and says nothing. “He — we…”

“You…” she prompts, her patience waning. “Out with it, buddy.”

Race mumbles something incoherent, and Katherine rolls her eyes. “Comprehensively, please.”

“I kissed him,” he says clearly — which is not _at all_ what Katherine is expecting, but she employs her thoroughly-practiced poker face that (though she’d never tell him) could probably dwarf Race’s as she nods. Like this is normal.

She watches a blush rise in Race’s cheeks. “Okay,” she says. “And?”

Race lifts his shoulders defensively, his arms winding tighter around his middle. “And nothin’,” he grumbles. “He shoved me off and sent me back to Manhattan.”

“When was this?” Katherine asks, before realizing she sounds too businesslike. Digging for details is in her bones, though, so she doesn’t retract the question, but she rests a hand gently on his shoulder like it may reassure him.

“Yesterday.”

Katherine had been too busy to hang out at the lodging house yesterday, which explains why she hadn’t noticed Race’s absence.

“And he just…” Katherine glances upwards thoughtfully. “Did he kiss you back?”

Race looks like he’s turning a deeper shade of red every minute. “Who cares?”

“It matters,” Katherine insists, and it does. Details matter. When you overlook them, you misinterpret.

Race gives a half-shrug. “Maybe. Probably by mistake.”

Katherine scoffs. “I don’t believe that. People don’t kiss back by mistake unless they want to.”

“You speakin’ from experience?”

“I’m not getting into that with you,” Katherine responds lightly. “He kissed you back. Then what? He shoved you off?”

“What is this, an interrogation? Yes, _officer_ , he shoved me off and said —” Race adopts a deep growl. “ _Get outta here, Higgins. You shouldn’ta did that._ ”

“Higgins is your last name?” Katherine says, again surprised. It’s strange how much she doesn’t know about most of the newsies, but at least they have surnames. She’d hardly realized she didn’t know Race’s last name — he was just Racetrack to her.

“I — that’s none o’ your business,” Race retorts, thrown off. “Look, forget it, okay?”

“No — I’m sorry, okay? I’m listening. Race,” Katherine presses, shaking his shoulder. “Okay, look. I know you’re gonna hate this advice, but I’m older than you and I know more stuff, which means I know better. You have to talk to him.”

Race immediately begins to protest, and Katherine shuts him down with a calculating stare. “ _Talk_ to him, Race. If you like him, tell him.”

“No way,” Race argues. “He said I shouldn’ta done it, and I shouldn’ta!”

“Then what? Fine, don’t talk to him. You’ll lose your selling spot, you’ll forever have that feeling of what-if, and you’ll be out a friend,” Katherine says. “At least if you confront him, you’ll know. And odds are,” she pokes his shoulder, “he’s not gonna shut you down.”

Race looks disbelievingly at Katherine, and she rolls her eyes.

“Fine, don’t trust me,” she says flippantly. “But I’m a reporter, and I make it my business to make everyone’s business my business, and Spot Conlon’s got eyes for you, if you ask me.”

Race blinks about four times. “What?”

“Think on it,” Katherine says, lifting his cap to ruffle his hair. “I should get home. It’s late.”

She whisks herself away, leaving Race to his bridge.

 

(A couple days later, Race corners her sitting cross-legged on Jack’s bed in the lodging house amidst raucous newsies and grabs her pencil to write _you was right_ on the top line of her notebook. Katherine grins widely at Race and duly notes the renewed sparkle in his eye.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! this may or may not become a chapter fic but don't worry it's not a continuous plot so it's whatever. anyhow, i'm on tumblr @vivilevone if you wanna reach me. and ofc hit me in the comments if you liked it. thanks again!


End file.
